Shakespeare says act and word
Must match together true.
From what you’ve seen and heard,
How can you doubt they do?
Enchanting drama! Mark
The crowd “from pit
to dome”,
One box alone is dark—
The prompter stays at home.
Stupendous artist! You
Are lord of joy and woe:
We thrill if you say “Boo,”
And thrill if you say “Bo.”
ANOTHER WAY.
I lay in silence, dead. A woman came
And laid a rose upon my breast
and said:
“May God be merciful.”
She spoke my name,
And added: “It
is strange to think him dead.
“He loved me well enough, but ’t
was his way
To speak it lightly.”
Then, beneath her breath:
“Besides”—I knew
what further she would say,
But then a footfall broke
my dream of death.
To-day the words are mine. I lay
the rose
Upon her breast, and speak
her name and deem
It strange indeed that she is dead.
God knows
I had more pleasure in the
other dream.
ART.
For Gladstone’s portrait five thousand
pounds
Were paid, ’t is said,
to Sir John Millais.
I cannot help thinking that
such fine pay
Transcended reason’s uttermost bounds.
For it seems to me uncommonly queer
That a painted British stateman’s
price
Exceeds the established value
thrice
Of a living statesman over here.
AN ENEMY TO LAW AND ORDER.
A is defrauded of his land by B,
Who’s driven from the premises by
C.
D buys the place with coin of plundered
E.
“That A’s an Anarchist!”
says F to G.
TO ONE ACROSS THE WAY.
When at your window radiant you’ve
stood
I’ve sometimes thought—forgive
me if I’ve erred—
That some slight thought of
me perhaps has stirred
Your heart to beat less gently than it
should.
I know you beautiful; that you are good
I hope—or fear—I
cannot choose the word,
Nor rightly suit it to the
thought. I’ve heard
Reason at love’s dictation never
could.
Blindly to this dilemma so I grope,
As one whose every pathway
has a snare:
If you are minded
in the saintly fashion
Of your pure face my passion’s without
hope;
If not, alas! I equally
despair,
For what to me were hope without
the passion?
THE DEBTOR ABROAD.
Grief for an absent lover, husband, friend,
Is barely felt before it comes to end:
A score of early consolations serve
To modify its mouth’s dejected curve.
But woes of creditors when debtors flee
Forever swell the separating sea.
When standing on an alien shore you mark
The steady course of some intrepid bark,
How sweet to think a tear for you abides,
Not all unuseful, in the wave she rides!—
That sighs for you commingle in the gale
Beneficently bellying her sail!